


the moment, sweet but all wrong

by DevilishKurumi



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-13
Updated: 2012-06-13
Packaged: 2017-11-07 15:52:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/432865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevilishKurumi/pseuds/DevilishKurumi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>my hand brushes against the lock of hair that hangs down past your ear to your jaw; it's real neat, the moment's sweet. but it's all wrong.<br/>uu/Dirk one-sided type thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the moment, sweet but all wrong

            You think about the way his neck would feel in your hands.  Tender skin and fragile bones and oh, the fluttering beat of his blood in his veins, speeding up with even the gentlest touch, the lightest pressure of your palm to his throat and your eyes on his.

            You fantasize about the things he'd say, or do, to keep you from killing him.  The quiet _please_ and the gasps and that offer, _anything, just don't_ -

            There are all sorts of things you'd suggest him do for you.  Little favors, little games, things to stave off the inevitable, and when you think about some of them, you can't help but rub yourself through your trousers.  You do it while you watch him draw.  Sometimes when he's in the ablution trap.  A lot of the time while he's sleeping.

            You tell him to suck on your fingers and kiss you and press his hands against the base of your horns and oh, yes.  All the while with one hand on his throat, or just a finger, just to remind him that you are going to kill him no matter what he does.  All he's doing is postponing his execution.

            Sometimes he stares at the ocean while you undo your fly and pull your bulge out, gasping a little as you watch him look towards the horizon he thinks the pink human lives on.  She lives in the other direction.  You don't tell him that.

            Rarely, he goes swimming.  The water's too dangerous, he'd be killed if he went too long or too often, and on some level you think, _he knows that's **mine**_.  But you don't tell him that, either.  You just watch him as he swims and imagine how those muscles might flex against your hands, under them, working to fight you off while you work yourself over, panting and thinking of him saying _please, anything, just don't._

            The one time you watch him lying on his bed, stroking his strange bulge, you curl around yourself and try to match his strokes, because yes, _yes_ , it's not tender or sweet or _intimate_ , and this is what you want, _really_ , you just tell him to draw tenderness and sweetness because it makes _him_ uncomfortable -

            His eyes squeeze tight and he cries a little afterwards, and you don't make an effort to watch those parts of his life again.

            Your hand squeezes around his throat as you watch him talking to the other male human, and his breath catches and he chokes and swallows his own tongue in an attempt to breathe, spasming under your hands and _oh, oh, fffffffuck._   You kick out and moan and you _don't_ cry, because you're not Dirk and you aren't pathetic and you aren't alone in the middle of nowhere with nobody to rescue you.  That's his thing.  Not yours.

            When you watch him lying on his rooftop and staring up at the sky, you let yourself fantasize about telling him how much you pity him for being so fucking alone and so unaware of what's coming.

            You definitely never tell him about that.

 


End file.
